


It's all Implied

by bgd_thrifty



Series: Read Between the Lines [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bisexual Character, Car Accidents, Drugged Sex, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, F/M, Insecurity, M/M, Not Happy, Open Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism, except not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2319260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgd_thrifty/pseuds/bgd_thrifty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It’s after the fifth time he tries to get Bucky to come home with him that Steve realises Bucky isn’t going to say yes. Ever.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Steve and Bucky have been dating for six months but they're yet to have sex and Steve's feeling pretty crappy about it. He wants to give up on the relationship, but Bucky's not about to let that happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in years and the first fic I've created for this fandom! Please excuse any Brit-speak you may come across (or feel free to point it out!). I was thinking of making this a series, as there's a lot more to explore, so tell me what you think.
> 
> In this fic, lots of things are implied but not conclusively, so warnings are sparse. Please read cautiously.

It’s after the fifth time he tries to get Bucky to come home with him that Steve realises Bucky isn’t going to say yes. Ever. It’s alright – he’s used to the rejection by now. Once he’s met them in person, guys seem to take one look at him and write him off. Steve knows he’s not the most attractive fella, but he thinks he has a nice personality and isn’t too bad a conversationalist. That’s why he’s so disappointed that things with Bucky don’t seem to be going anywhere. They’ve been dating for nearly six months but anytime Steve tries to make a move he gets rebuffed. They haven’t even made it to over the clothes stuff. Steve likes kissing but he’d love to do more. With Bucky. It doesn’t seem however, that that’s on the cards.

“Look, I’ve gotta get up early tomorrow. You know… construction,” Bucky says vaguely, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s go out tomorrow night, though?” Bucky leaves his hand where it is and his eyes cut to the side, looking at Steve through hooded – not bedroom, Steve thinks uncharitably – eyes. He doesn’t want to be a stereotypical guy and only think with his dick, but all of this is really knocking his self-esteem. Steve sighs and turns in the booth to face Bucky, a little awkwardly.

“Buck,” he says, swallowing. His chest feels tight but it’s not asthma this time. Bucky angles his body towards him and gives him a gentle smile. Steve’s going to miss it. “Bucky… I don’t know if this is working. I really like you and I need to know that we’re, I dunno, progressing?” Bucky’s smile has turned into a frown.

“Steve? I… I thought things were good. What did I do?” His forehead is creased and he’s biting his lips and Steve just wants to tell him to forget about it. But he’s also stayed in relationships that he really shouldn’t have that were bad for him and this one is making him feel like shit. So, he’s leaving. As his mind makes this up for him, Steve starts to fish around in his bag for some bills to pay for the meal. He doesn’t make eye contact with Bucky, who is staring at him intently, waiting for his answer.

“I just don’t think we’re compatible. Sorry,” he adds hastily when Bucky’s eyebrows rise from a frown to a look of complete disbelief. Hurriedly, Steve pulls out some cash and throws it on the table. He can feel his face flushing red but his whole body is cold. When he starts up his bike outside, he can see Bucky through the large windows of the diner. His head is down on the table and his shoulders are lightly shaking. Steve swallows through a lump in his throat and rides home.

Fatigue strikes Steve down for the next few days and he can barely walk to the kitchen for water let alone face up to what he’s done. His cell was blowing up for the first day or so, but it’s quietened down now. He’s been lulled into a false sense of security by day four so when the phone rings, he picks up.

“What the fuck, Steve!” is the first thing he hears. Steve closes his eyes. He hasn’t eaten for half a week and he’s tired and weak and heartsick.

“Hi, Sam,” he replies. Sam introduced the two of them after Steve had one too many failed online dates. He’d been set up by friends before, but he’d never hit it off so well with someone until Bucky.

“First, you run out on your boyfriend and then you disappear for days. Do you _want_ to go back to hospital?” Steve resents the lecture because he is no longer a danger to himself or others. He wants to remind Sam that he has official documentation saying so. What he actually says is,

“He’s not my boyfriend, Sam.”

“Yeah, because you broke up with him completely out of the blue.”

“It wasn’t going anywhere, okay? I just wanted to save us both the heartache.”

“Judging by the way you sound that didn’t work out too good. You’re both in a bad way, Steve. Talk it out.” Sam tells him to eat something, which they both know he’s not going to do, and informs him that Peggy’s been looking after the shop while he was ill. Tension Steve didn’t know he had leaves him and he makes a note to stop over with something baked for her later in the week when he’s feeling stronger again. When they hang up, Steve sits on his couch and doesn’t get up again.

He wakes up the next morning to a knock at the door. Feeling slightly more capable of locomotion, Steve actually answers it. He doesn’t think he’s ordered anything recently, but it could be prints he’s forgotten about as he often does. He’s wearing sweatpants and a vest top but when he opens the door, he wishes he had something to cover up his bony upper body.

“Can I come in?” Bucky asks. He must have walked because there’s no car or bike outside and he’s wearing his heavy leather jacket. There’s a chill wind blowing in from outside and Steve doesn’t want to make himself ill so he beckons Bucky in and shuts the door.

Bucky’s boots echo on the floor as he walks around Steve’s apartment, taking it all in. If Steve knew all it took to get Bucky to come home with him was to end their relationship, he might have done it earlier. He notices the bag Bucky’s carrying at the same time Bucky says,

“Chinese? I got you soup. You probably ain’t eaten since… yeah.” He gestures weakly and Steve’s treacherous stomach rumbles. Soup is fine. He can have soup.

Half a bowl later, Steve is done. With all of this. Bucky isn’t even looking at him, just picking at the remains of his rice. Normally, Steve would steal his fork and eat a bit, provided it was plain and unsalted but today he sits ramrod straight, throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders (by Bucky). They sit in silence until Bucky has evidently had enough.

“Steve, I’m just gonna come out and say it. I don’t – fuck this is hard. I don’t…” Steve feels bad. Real bad. He almost doesn’t want to hear what Bucky has to say because he doesn’t think it can be taken back. But he doesn’t interrupt because Bucky has four days’ worth of stubble and his eyes are bloodshot and he looks as wrecked as Steve does.

“I don’t, _can’t_ have sex with guys.” He must take Steve’s silence as acceptance of that statement but inside all Steve can hear is his own internal voice saying ‘ _What the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck-_ ’ and he wants to crawl inside himself and die.

“So you were just playin’ about? This some kinda joke between you and Sam?” Steve is really fucking hurt. He can’t think of a universe in which his best friend would mess around with his feelings like this. “Take pity on poor Stevie who can’t get a fella? Set him up with a straight guy?” Bucky’s eyes flash and his expression hardens.

“I’m _not_ straight. You know I’m bi. I just…” he deflates suddenly. “To be honest, I’m only sayin’ this because I like you so much, Steve. And I don’t want to lose what we got. But you know I had bad shit happen to me,” he motions his head in the direction of his arm, missing below the elbow, “and I guess I’m fucked up from it. Really bad. And I wish I could say that I’m gonna change or get better from it but I don’t know if I am. This ain’t about you, Steve. It’s all me.”

Steve has never heard someone say so much with so little. At least, not since the ‘Sorry,’ that told him his ma was dead.

“So,” Steve starts, trying to work this out in his head. “You saying that if I was hot, you still wouldn’t be into it?” Bucky half laughs, even if his body language is all fucked up and closed off.

“You’re gorgeous, Stevie. I’m head over heels for you. But I got a lot of baggage and that’s not going away. And… if us not doin’ it makes it so you don’t want to be with me then okay. I’ll accept that. But I don’t want to.”

Steve doesn’t know what to do. There’s a mountain of unsaid words here, ones they should probably unpack. But he’s got his own demons he’s not telling Bucky about any time soon so isn’t it fair that Bucky keeps his own secrets?

“You really think I’m attractive? This isn’t some sick joke?” he says, rubbing self-consciously at the prominent bones of his sternum. Bucky catches his hand and Steve wants to tug it away, aware of how flaky and dry the skin on his hands is compared to Bucky’s soft, warm palm.

“Steve, you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever met. And you’re funny. And you’re talented.” He’s leaning closer to Steve and crowding him with his presence. Steve has been so cold. “I can’t believe I met someone so perfect.” Steve’s blushing and he looks away. Bucky drops his hand to nudge Steve’s chin back up and he kisses him softly. Steve’s eyes flutter shut. He feels human again.

“We can make it work, Stevie. And if you gotta… if you want something I can’t give then we can work it out. Together.”

“I don’t want this to be over,” Steve catches himself whispering before he can stop the words. He keeps his eyes shut tight so he can’t see Bucky’s face.

“It’s not over. We can make it work,” Bucky repeats.

Steve, in that moment, believes him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was previously posted as its own fic, but I've decided to combine for ease of reading/impact.

Steve has never been less happy to have his hand on his dick. Frankly, his absentminded stroking is only just about keeping him hard because his stomach is turning and it’s pretty difficult to maintain an erection when you want to throw up. Here are the facts:

Bucky Barnes and Sharon Carter are fucking on Steve’s bed. They are fucking and Steve is not allowed to interact except for as some kind of voyeur because if he touches Bucky in a sexual manner, he might not like the consequences. When Bucky suggested it – _this_ , Steve thought he might as well try and see it through but he sorely regrets that decision. Steve is gay. He likes Sharon as a friend though he is not as close to her as her sister Peggy (and thank God for that because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to look Sharon in the eye after today), but her body awakens no sexual desire within him. Just jealousy.

Steve’s thinking about how good their bodies look pressed tightly together as Bucky fingers Sharon and how Bucky, when Steve and him kiss, is always careful not to lean too heavily on him lest he break. Bucky and Sharon are on their sides and making out sloppily, the way people who are distracted by other things do. Sharon has a leg thrown over Bucky’s hip and so Steve can see the way Bucky’s fingers slide in and out of her, glistening. Her feet flex intermittently and her breath stutters. Steve’s glad she’s enjoying herself.

He’s sitting in a computer chair at the foot of the bed, slightly off to one side so he can what, swivel around to get all the angles? Slide from one side of the room to the other? He’s good where he is, thanks. This way he can see everything. He can see when Sharon goes rigid and comes and Bucky uses that opportunity to sink into her. When they’re hip to hip, Bucky wipes sweaty hair out of Sharon’s face and smiles gently at her and Steve feels his heart clench. He’s never wished he was a girl, even if he’s been called a prissy fairy queen his whole life, but right now he’d give anything to swap places with Sharon.

Steve’s been this thin for a long time now, and back when he had ‘meat on him’ as diplomatic people called it, he’d been far too insecure to make moves on anyone. So he has no idea what it’s like to not have people complain throughout that your bones are hurting them, that you’ve got no ass to cushion their thrusts, that when your chest heaves they can count all your ribs – ‘ _and that’s sick, Steve’_. Bucky doesn’t look like he’s got any of those complaints about Sharon. They fit together perfectly, two people with curves and muscles in all the right places. Sometimes Steve still wonders if Bucky’s made up an elaborate excuse so that he never actually has to interact with Steve’s naked body. If Steve is as repulsed by it on a daily basis as he is, surely others must feel the same. Maybe that’s why Bucky won’t have sex with him. Steve feels like shit after he’s thought that, of course, but the thoughts still come. How can they not?

Steve closes his eyes as he hears the noises pick up. If he doesn’t get off, then Bucky and Sharon might ask questions. And if they ask questions, Steve might cry. No one wants that, so Steve licks his palm and works it over his dick, planting his feet on the seat of the chair so he can thrust up more effectively. He’d like to say that he and Bucky come together but why would they? They’re not in sync in anything.

Sharon goes for a shower after and Steve hears Bucky pad over to him.

“Good?” Steve opens his eyes and Bucky is grinning at him with all his might. Who would Steve be if he tried to wipe that smile off Bucky’s face?

“Yeah, Buck. Real good,” he replies, and tilts his head up for a kiss. Bucky complies but Steve can _feel_ how Bucky angles his body away from him so their naked skin doesn’t touch. Steve feels another block of ice settle itself in his soul.

* * *

“I’m not a sex object, Steve. I’m a human and I’m your friend. You can’t just use me and discard me.” Sharon is angry and righteously so. Steve flushes red and the older lady browsing his art in the corner gives them a scandalous look and walks out. Sale lost.

“I’m sorry, Sharon. I’ve been busy,” he says, gesturing around at the shop. She looks unimpressed which is fair because it’s been two weeks since he talked to her. “Let me just close up. It’s nearly lunch, anyway. We can talk in the back.” He flips the sign to ‘back in an hour!’, locks the door and leads Sharon through to the small kitchen in the back.

“Sandwich?” Steve asks, rooting through the fridge. He won’t be able to eat now he’s nervous – not that he wanted to anyway, but he’s getting close to landing himself back in hospital or so everyone says – but maybe Sharon might like a bite or two to distract from the conversation.

“I’m fine,” she says, shortly. There is a pregnant pause.

“Look, I don’t get you and Bucky’s thing. I mean, I thought you were both gay but being into girls too doesn’t mean you get to treat them badly.”

“Bucky’s bi,” Steve states absently. Sharon raises an eyebrow.

“But you…”

“I’m gay.”

“So why? I mean I’d say it’s none of my business but you kind of made it that way,” Sharon says. Steve shrugs.

“Me and Bucky don’t actually-” Steve wiggles two of his fingers together but Sharon looks at him blankly. “- _fondue._ So we were tryin’ to see if we could be intimate by proxy, I guess.” He looks at a point over her shoulder while Sharon clearly struggles to process this information.

“What? No, don’t elaborate, it’s none of my business.” Steve doesn’t know if she’s taken pity on him or if she’s worked out more – she is incredibly intelligent after all – that he’d like her to, but her tone has softened and she puts an arm around his shoulder. Like most people he knows, Sharon is physically larger than he is and he finds the half embrace quite comforting. She squeezes his upper arm and Steve presses his forehead to her shoulder for a moment in thanks.

She starts talking about the shop and how much she likes the recent set-up and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been so grateful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make sure that you haven't missed the previous chapter (which you may have already read as a separate one-shot). I realised that having all the one-shots as separate fics was a little disjointed and so have combined this fic with [Line Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2332352) (which will remain as an archival of comments). Sorry for any confusion!

There are two facts that James Buchanan Barnes knows. One: he’s an asshole. Two: him and Steve aren’t going to work out. It’s only a matter of time before the two facts intersect and Steve realises he can do better than this thing they’ve got going. Or maybe Bucky just feels this way because before, Steve fucking other people was in the abstract. Now, it’s just another fact to add to the list and Bucky feels all kinds of ways about it.

Of course Steve went for the one person Bucky had a thing against and Bucky thinks in retrospect he should have seen it coming. Steve was never going to be the type to pick up a random guy in a bar and forget about him the next day. He connects with people. And in their circle of friends, the only guy not already with someone else (Steve’s number one rule was no complicating other people’s relationships) was Tony, Steve’s ex.

Bucky knows he ain’t got a right to be jealous. Especially not after Sharon. But Sharon’s a friend of both of them and Tony is… well, Tony. Bucky and him get on like a house on fire. That is to say, with people running away from the wreckage screaming. Stark just riles him up until he can’t think straight and Steve always gets pissed at the both of them after. But especially Bucky, because he ‘should know better’. Bucky doesn’t fucking know better. The only thing he knows is that he doesn’t want Tony Stark fucking his boyfriend and he can’t say shit to stop it.

Stark is everything Bucky could have been in another life. They’re both into putting stuff together and taking stuff apart except Stark has a million years of schooling under his belt and Bucky’s the next best thing after a high school dropout. He doesn’t have the kind of money to put himself through school and he isn’t the type to take a handout from anyone. He likes being a foreman – making sure his men onsite have everything they need to get a job done – but he’s always had ideas about building himself a new prosthetic and maybe doing it for other people, too. Fuck knows how he even got the job he has only having an arm and a half. It’s solid work and he doesn’t think he’s too good for it or anything, but sometimes Bucky looks at people – like Steve – doing what they love and yeah, he gets a little jealous.

 _And_ , back to thinking about Steve and Stark. Steve had come up to him at their housewarming – yeah yeah, they’d been told they were moving too fast but Steve’s lease was up and Bucky’s place too expensive on his current workload – just a few hours ago and said ‘ _Bucky, I’m gonna… Tony’s staying over. That okay?_ ’ Bucky’d said yeah – of course he’d said yeah. The feeling of Sharon pressed against him all hot and wet has just about faded from his mind. He loves Steve – yeah, he really does – but it’s been a long dry spell. And Bucky knows it’s down to him, but he just _can’t-_

When he asked, Steve had been licking his lips something fierce and worrying the chapped skin between his teeth. Bucky had shrugged a shoulder. What else was he supposed to say? ‘ _I fucked our friend but you gotta be celibate?_ ’ He’s an asshole, but not that much of one. Steve’d smiled at him – a little nervously, mind – and had leaned up to kiss him.

‘ _You coming up with us now?_ ’ he’d asked into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky had frozen. What? He’s not- he can’t-

‘ _Stevie…_ ’ He’d watched Steve deflate; pull into himself and the arm Bucky snaked around Steve’s rigid spine didn’t do anything to relax him. Steve had taken a deep breath as if to let all the tension back out when he exhaled.

It didn’t work.

‘ _Okay, Buck. Okay_.’ Steve had said. And that was that. Except it obviously wasn’t okay for either of them. But Bucky had known, and knows now, that he’d made his bed. And now Steve and Stark are fucking in it. If he strains his ears, he can hear cut off gasps drifting from up the stairs. He’s pretty sure that’s Steve he’s hearing, too. In fact, Bucky’s kind of surprised that he’s not reacting to it but maybe it’s because he can only hear one person. God only knows what that means Stark’s doing with his mouth.

Bucky leans back on the couch and turns the TV on. His eyes aren’t burning and his face ain’t hot. Fact.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve muses on why he and Bucky remain together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some time to flesh out my plan for how this is going to continue, so please bear with me. I thought about extending the chapter lengths, but my writing quality really suffered so I've elected to keep them short and (hopefully) sweet.
> 
> As always, feel free to point out any continuity errors, Brit-speak or just general typos.

They have perfect days. There would be no point to this if it was doom and gloom the whole time. Only a few of their friends know how fundamentally fucked this all is – the rest just assume their relationship is happily open. If everything was shit, Steve _knows_ he wouldn’t stay. He’s been in relationships like that before, where every day together is like chipping a piece of his soul away. The problem is that being with Bucky is everything Steve hoped for. Someone who’s there in the evenings to curl up with in front of some shitty T.V., someone who doesn’t treat him like fine china or like he doesn’t have an opinion worth anything. Someone who loves him. And Steve knows Bucky does. It’s not about the sex, not really. It’s more the rejection every time, that Steve can feel melding its way around his organs and slowly solidifying there, weighing him down.

But they have summer days where Steve wakes up in the morning and he rolls over to see Bucky already awake, looking down at him with warm eyes. Days where Bucky softly kisses Steve’s brow, softly furrowed with discomfort from the sun. Where he tucks Steve into his body and gentles him back to sleep for another hour or two even though there’s work they could both be doing. Steve often has restless nights, unable to find a comfortable position or one at least that won’t result in his own bones giving him bruises. Steve never has trouble when he’s lying atop Bucky, his head nestled under Bucky’s chin and their legs twined together.

They have fall days where they take as long a walk as Steve can tolerate and Bucky piggybacks him home. They usually collapse red-cheeked and chuckling in the hallway, ripping off hats and gloves as they transition from the cooling outdoors to their perpetually heated house. Bucky says he doesn’t mind the heating bills if it means he never has to see Steve shivering. Steve tries to turn the thermostat down, especially when he’s fully clothed and Bucky just has shorts on, but when he leaves the room and re-enters, it’s always back to where it was before.

They have winter days where Steve’s hacking up a lung and has to have Peggy take over on the shop. Where he doesn’t know what’s up or down anymore and spends all his days with not enough strength to sit up, throat raw with coughs and muscles too sore to force them out. And Bucky can’t take too much time off or they won’t be able to afford rent let alone medicine and hospital bills so he comes back at lunches he should be spending with the boys to drip honeyed teas and soups like Steve’s mom used to make down Steve’s throat. They both know Steve’s in a real bad way when he doesn’t even have the strength to say ‘get those fucking spoons _outta_ my face, Buck’.

They have spring days where business picks up at Steve’s shop as people go through the process of decluttering their houses of old crap and recluttering with new art. He’s still kinda overwhelmed that people like his stuff well enough to buy it, but he’s not about to say something and pop the bubble. Steve lives for the days where Bucky’s working on something nearby and he can see him on the ground with his helmet on, gesticulating wildly with a clipboard or holding a walkie-talkie close to his mouth. Yeah, Steve gets less work done those days, but no one can blame him. Especially not when Bucky sees him and blows him a kiss. That takes him right back to those blushing teenage years.

They have bad days too, but Steve’s not too keen on revisiting those. He doesn’t need to think about Bucky rolling away from him or Bucky’s screaming nightmares where Steve has to get out of bed in case he gets socked in the eye. He doesn’t want to think about how he wakes up some mornings and nothing Bucky says can get him out of bed. He doesn’t want to think about tissues with bloody phlegm or how snappy they both can get about money. If Steve thinks about those things too much, and lets them become bigger than the perfect days, they might as well call it quits.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky muses about feeding Steve and how they can't live like this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you for your continuing kudos and comments, too. I really love to hear what people think. Sometimes (in the case of the next couple chapters) I even have a plot bunny or two inspired... If you note any typos, grammar mistakes, Brit-speak or continuity errors, let me know! I want to make your reading experience as seamless as possible.
> 
> The eating disorder tag is important for the next two chapters, so please proceed with caution if that may affect you.

If Bucky doesn’t feed Steve, sometimes he doesn’t eat for days. He’s gotta be sneaky about it, because when Steve’s too conscious about what’s going in his mouth, he gets real antsy and makes everyone around him miserable. So Bucky bakes a lot and sometimes he gets Steve to taste a brownie or nibble a cookie. He sees if Steve can catch candy Bucky flicks in his direction in his mouth. He makes up ‘gooey bowls of heart attack’ – Steve-speak for gelato – and feeds every other spoon to Steve so it ‘gets finished before it melts’.

Bucky’s not so stupid that he doesn’t know that Steve lets him do this. It’s a tacit agreement they have that if Bucky doesn’t force the issue all the time, Steve’ll pretend that he doesn’t know what Bucky’s doing. Bucky’s seen other people try to make Steve eat when he doesn’t want to. It’s not a pretty sight and if Bucky wasn’t mad for his fella, he might think twice after one of those shouting matches. Steve’s usually a calm, rational guy but there are two things that set him off. Bullies and food. Bucky knows Steve’s small. Tiny, even. He looks like puberty steamrolled him rather than hit him. It’s not like Steve looks like a kid because no way in hell is Bucky into that shit. Steve looks like a man and sure as hell sounds like one. But he just about hits Bucky’s chin and weighs about as much as your average sixth grader. Bucky’s seen the looks Steve gets in public, and how he hunches himself in to hide from the stares. Bucky’s always thought though, that Steve’s just… gorgeous. There’s no other way to describe it. Yeah, he’s pretty scrawny, but he’s got a smile that lights up a room. He might look fragile, but he’s got guts of steel and a right hook to match.

Right now, Steve’s raising an eyebrow at him as he lifts a finger covered in chocolate batter for Steve to lick. Steve does it perfunctorily, not lingering long enough to make either of them uncomfortable and break the moment.

“I’m done,” Steve says after. Bucky nods. He’s been pushing it all day and he doesn’t want to introduce tension to their evening. Not with Sam coming over later for dinner. “Maybe,” Steve continues hesitantly, almost as if he regrets the words falling out of his mouth “I can have some cake later-” Before Bucky can even react, Steve rushes on “-If I’m not still full.” Bucky nods and smiles because he’s not about to do or say anything that makes Steve think that’s a bad idea. He puts the cupcake tray in to bake and flops down on the couch. Steve curls neatly into his side and kisses him softly on the neck. Then, he sneezes.

“You’re overdue for a haircut,” he says, tugging at an errant lock of hair. Bucky feels himself making a face. He hates having people fiddling around his head, especially ones with sharp blades in their hands.

“You don’t love me with my hair long, punk?” he asks, grabbing Steve’s cool hand and moving it to a more pleasant spot on his cheek. Steve rolls his eyes, saying “You’re always fishing, Bucky,” but brings his other hand to Bucky’s face as well and the atmosphere grows a little heavier.

“I always love you, you big mushy jerk.” Bucky thinks it’s all overwhelmingly Hallmark but he can’t look away. He feels like he should have a ring or something, because the mood is getting a little more serious without either of them saying anything. Maybe it’s the weight of the decisions they’ve made to get this far together. Bucky doesn’t know how Steve feels, not really, but he himself has a lot of guilt. He hasn’t fucked anyone they both know since Sharon and he has no idea what he was thinking, shitting so close to where he ate. Sharon’s great, but even she can’t stop the tension that arises when the three of them are in a room for too long together. Another point on a long list of Bucky's regrets. But it’s not like he’s out on the prowl every night. He’s not a complete asshole – his right hand suffices ninety percent of the time. Just every now and again he feels that need to get hot and heavy with someone. He wishes it could be Steve but that’s just… no, still impossible. Maybe one day. And hey, that’s more than he could say a couple years ago.

Neither of them jump at the knock on the door. It feels natural to be broken here, where the moment can diffuse into the seams of their home, imbuing it with all the other things they’ve never said out loud. Another series of knocks comes and they can hear Sam shouting, muffled through the wood.

“I know you’re in there, lovebirds! Stop staring into each other’s eyes and feed me.” Steve laughs out loud and kisses the corner of Bucky’s mouth before leaping up to answer the door. Bucky leans against the backrest and stares at a hairline crack in the ceiling. The smile drops off his face. Something’s got to give.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is confronted with the knowledge that he has one less secret than he previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to post this chapter and technically I posted the last one before midnight and this one today, so... have a present.
> 
> Just reiterating that the eating disorder tag applies fully to this chapter.

Steve hates bullies. The whole world knows it’s true and even though he know everyone laughs at him when he goes on one of his tirades about the world’s injustices, he also knows that people respect him for standing up for his beliefs. They just wish that he would try a little harder to stay on his feet, rather than getting knocked on his ass. Steve’d never say that he was a _good_ fighter – no matter what his ma used to say – but he is one. He knows his spirit is the only thing that’s kept him going all these years and even if it gets a little battered sometimes, Steve knows he’ll always be alright. And on the day that he isn’t, well no one can say he didn’t go down punching.

He’s sitting in the emergency room with blood coating his chapped hands – he really needs to use the hand creams that are always thrust upon him – and he’s shivering because he gave his coat to a guy who needs it a hell of a lot more than he does. Bucky’s gonna kill him but generally, he only needs to get from their house to the shop. It’s a short walk and he’s got enough hoodies to wrap himself up in. Right now doesn’t count. He’s only here because they won’t let him leave without someone, just in case he takes a funny turn.

Someone sits down next to him. Someone big and tall and practically radiating heat.

“I would not like to see the other man,” a semi-familiar voice says. The voice is deep and friendly and Steve looks over. Then up and up. The guy’s a _tree_.

“Nah, he made it out okay. I always get the short end of the stick,” Steve says, grinning. There’s something about this man that puts him at ease and it’s only then that Steve realises he knows him. “Hey, aren’t you Loki’s brother? Thor?” Thor grimaces and Steve feels sorry for him. Loki’s a local menace, allegedly only kept in check by his father’s grip on his bank balance. Steve’s seen Thor at art shows – but only from a distance and yeah, he’s even hotter up close – and he seems nicer than his brother. Which isn't really hard.

“Yes, Loki is my brother. I am sure you have heard tales of his misdeeds. He is a great thorn in my side.”

“He, uh… graffitied my shop front a while back. It’s cool though,” Steve continues hurriedly as Thor’s expression becomes pained. “Insurance covered it but I kept the paint – it was well done and kinda goes with the theme. Art shop and all,” he says, not wanting to presume that Thor has any idea of what Steve does. “Steven Rogers, by the way,” he adds, waving off a handshake with an awkward gesture towards his bloody knuckles. Thor nods, his stormy expression smoothing out somewhat.

“I do not wish to be rude, Steven,” Thor says, “but I notice that you are alone. Might I enquire as to how you will return home? If you do not mind the unpleasant company, I have space in my car.” The implication being that the reason Thor is here is Loki.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m waiting for my friend to come pick me up,” he says. His friend Bucky. Yeah, that’s what Steve's mouth has decided is their relationship to one another. Maybe he’s being blinded by how fucking bright Thor’s hair is or how gentle his eyes are or how much he’d like to be encased by those arms.

“I understand. I can only hope that our paths might cross once more,” Thor says, standing. He’s a funny fella, Steve thinks, but he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a card. Thor must just be that friendly type, because Steve knows he looks even more like death warmed up than he usually does. The idea of someone like Thor (or Bucky, or Tony) being attracted to him is laughable.

“Here,” he says, handing it over. “This is my shop. Maybe you can come see my art and your brother’s, too.” He’d wink, but his eye is beginning to swell shut. Thor smiles, pockets the card and disappears round a corner.

It’s not long before Bucky comes busting in and Steve’s not quite prepared for the flurry as Bucky feels him over and fusses and yells at everyone. Why’s Steve just sittin’ here, why’s he still all messed up, where’s the goddamn icepack, what’s the point of hospital staff if you gotta do everything yourself, what the _fuck,_ Steve-

“It’s not my blood,” Steve says.

“S’your fuckin’ black eye though. Jesus, Steve, you’re a mess!”

“Looks worse than it is, Buck, calm down. I passed out on the way home and someone called an ambulance. I said they didn’t need to take me here, that it wasn’t anythin’ serious but they wouldn’t hear different.” Bucky goes real still.

“So what you’re saying - what I'm hearin' - is that you didn’t pass out because you got beat up.” Steve feels like he’s walking on a minefield but he doesn’t know why. Not yet. He nods, hesitantly.

“Steve, did you even eat today? I know you threw up yesterday night-” Steve goes cold because Bucky’s _not supposed to know that “_ -have you actually fucking put anything in your mouth since then?” All Steve’s mouth can do is gape open because he’s reeling. That’s something for only _him_. God, how many of his friends know? It’s so wasteful and he hates it but sometimes it gets too much or the food won’t settle no matter how long he waits and he can’t just _leave_ it there to poison his insides so he has to bring it back up and it fucking _hurts_ but there are worse pains in the world-

“I’ll take that as a no. Steve, you know the doctors say your potassium’s fucked. You gotta-”

“Bucky. Shut the fuck up.” Bucky stops talking. He gets up from his crouched position on the floor and signs the paperwork to get Steve out of there. They remain silent the whole bus journey home. Bucky gets a flannel to clean him up when they get back and even though he won’t look Steve in the eye, he kisses each bruised knuckle.

“I’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight,” Bucky says finally. He sounds choked but Steve hasn’t got the words or the time to comfort him. He’s too busy turning somersaults in his mind, wondering how Bucky found out. Did he hear him? Did Steve not clear up properly? Did he find food containers in the trash?

Steve throws up three more times that night even though he has to go past Bucky – awake 'til early morning watching shitty cartoons – to get to the fridge. He doesn’t even know which one of them he’s punishing. He sleeps fitfully and wakes up cold, fingers stiff and grasping for a warm chest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds an oasis in his turbulent relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Steve/Thor. Thor's hard to write, so I just sort of... didn't. In general, I do find it quite difficult to write about more than two characters in detail per fic. Apologies to all those who can actually write him well.
> 
> Thank you for your continuing support! I'm so happy people like my contribution to the fandom.

“I live with my- with Bucky,” Steve says, in response to Thor’s question. He’s sitting in the fanciest restaurant he’s ever been in, not at all like the diners he’s used to. He can see the bar from where they’re sitting and it’s stocked with booze he’s never heard of, let alone drunk. When he was with Tony, there were all those issues with his inheritance and Stane and Tony wasn’t exactly flashing the cash. And even though now Tony’s got full access to his money, Steve isn’t exactly in a position to be asking him to take him on expensive dates. Not that that is what this is.

Steve thinks that if Thor were the type to raise an eyebrow, he would at this point. As it stands, Thor gives him a particularly intense look and says,

“And this… Bucky of yours. He is your partner?” Steve flushes and his stomach starts to roil. He’s only eaten a few bites of his meal (pathetic compared to Thor, who has finished three courses) but he already feels feverish, like it’s burning him from the inside out. Steve hates lying and he prefers to do it by omission when he thinks it’s necessary. So in this case, he’s got nothing else to tell but the truth.

“Yeah,” Steve says simply, pushing around an unrecognisable lump on his plate. “We’ve uh, got a thing going though so this ain’t cheating – not that I’m sayin’ you’re interested – _Jeezus,_ Steve,” he finishes, muttering under his breath.

“I will not pretend to understand, Steven. But I do wish to spend further time in your company. _If_ you would like to come to my home.” Steve must be a tomato by now but he isn’t so stupid he doesn’t know an invitation to get outta here when he hears one. He starts to pull out his wallet – and there’s no way he’s gonna be able to explain this expense to Bucky, who doesn't even know he's  _here_ – but Thor rests a solid hand over his vaguely trembling one and places a card on the table. Steve’s already mortified enough but at least that solves one problem because he _really_ doesn’t think he can afford this place.

* * *

 

This has all happened suddenly, but Steve can’t say that he regrets where it’s going.

Kissing Thor is like being pressed into a wall by a mountain. If Steve ever thought he was short next to Bucky, well now he might as well be an ant. He’s being pushed down into a mattress that’s like lying on clouds and the heavy weight of Thor leaning on his wrists is hypnotic. Steve’s sure he’ll have bruises in the morning but right now he’s too focussed on breathing in the warm spiced scent of Thor’s cologne.

It’s strange being with someone who hasn’t been told over and over again that Steve is fragile, that he’s got to be taken care of, that if you push him too far, he’ll snap literally _and_ figuratively. Steve feels breathless and overwhelmed, but it’s with anticipation. He feels a palm reach under his shirt and caress his spine, practically spanning his entire back. Steve tenses a little but Thor doesn’t say anything about how gross he finds Steve’s bony body. In fact, he moans into Steve’s mouth and says something in a language Steve doesn’t understand.

“May I?” Thor says, hands out from under Steve’s shirt and now lingering over his top button.

“Yeah,” Steve says breathily, too caught in the moment to be self-conscious. Thor strips himself and then Steve and presses their bodies together, chest to toe. He runs the backs of his fingers over Steve’s face, then his chest, then his arms and sides and Steve feels like he’s being petted into oblivion. He reaches a heavy arm to Thor’s head and yanks him down by the hair to fit their mouths back together in a sloppy kiss. Not that he could have done that if Thor didn’t want to, Steve thinks blissfully. He’s entranced by the sensation of completely bare skin against his, something he’s now only felt twice in around two years. And Tony could never just… surround him like this. He’s too active; too _selfish_. Steve knows that Bucky thinks he’s gone off with more guys than he has. It’s harder for him to keep track when he doesn’t want to know anything about what Steve does. Steve, however, knows every time a dame’s been with Bucky. He can feel it in his bones and read it on Bucky’s face.

Thor shifts slightly on top of him but it’s enough to bring their lower bodies into alignment. Steve gasps as Thor’s hips begin to flex and relax alternately, grinding their pelvises together. Steve’s heart feel like it's going ninety miles an hour and it feels good, even if Steve knows that those skipped beats are quite literal and not a good thing. Right now, he couldn’t care less. He feels his consciousness narrow down to the point of contact between him and Thor. Toes tensing, legs tangling, bellies and groins pressed, chests heaving, necks extended, tongues moving languorously. Thor’s dick pressing against his hipbone feels like a promise.

“Will you…” Steve trails off, breathless and reaches a hand down to grip Thor’s ass, increasing the friction. What he says doesn’t mean anything, but Thor seems to understand if the foil packet and lube bottle that appear in between Steve’s lazy blinks mean anything. Thor kisses him and rolls them over without breaking contact and Steve feels a grin break out on his face. He feels ridiculous; _elated_. Though the mood is mellow and the light is slowly disappearing as the sun sets, Steve feels a burst of energy. He hasn’t got time for prolonged foreplay. He takes the bottle, leans back on his haunches and works slick fingers into himself none too gently. Thor makes a soft sound of protest but it’s choked off as Steve makes a fist round his dick and begins to sink down on it.

_Fuck,_ is Steve’s only thought for a while. He can feel his nerves singing with pain and his days are full of such deadened feelings that any sensation that isn’t hunger or nausea or misery is welcomed with a chorus of hallelujahs. He can’t move for a while because his thighs are like jelly and trying to push up is like swimming against a current with weights on his ankles. He bends over and rests his forehead in the crook of Thor’s neck and Thor pulls the sheets up around them. Steve didn’t even notice he was getting cold.

After what feels like forever, he gets his strength back and begins to shift his hips up and down. It’s hardly athletic, but he braces his hands against Thor’s shoulders, elbows and knees resting against the mattress and grinds his hips down to meet every one of Thor’s thrusts. Each one is like an ocean wave crashing over him and Steve hopes that Thor dismisses the wet streams on his chest as sweat.

Steve forgets the aches in his bones and his heart. He forgets his pain and his illnesses and for a moment, he even forgets Bucky. When he comes into his hand, it’s like a dam breaking and he’s still shuddering through the aftershocks when Thor manoeuvres them round again and finishes with Steve on his back. When Thor collapses on top of him, Steve feels something thud into place.

With Thor, he forgot everything for a while. And now he has to confess. He’s not scared. It’s not as if he wants to leave Bucky for Thor. For anyone. It’s just that some things have been put into perspective now. They shouldn’t be the way they are. Yes, the good times are just that, but they should never make each other miserable as they frequently do.

Thor kisses the side of Steve's neck, and Steve feels himself drift into slumber.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've been here before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading.

_‘Where you been, Steve?’_

_‘Bucky, we need to talk’._ They’re the words Bucky’s been dreading and waiting for in equal measure. He knows he’s been existing with Steve on borrowed time. It all seems too perfect: their house is nice, their jobs are going well; they’ve even been thinking about getting a dog or a cat or something. Bucky’s not the kind of person who gets to have a life like this. Yeah, things are bad sometimes. Like when he’s jolted awake every five minutes from nightmares or Steve tosses and turns like the fucking princess with a pea under her mattress because his bones won’t give him a comfortable position to lie in. Or when Steve kicks off about little shitty things like the couch blanket not being folded because he’s pissed off about bigger things they don’t wanna voice. But everyone’s got a breaking point. And Steve’s been so patient.

He’s sitting at the table and Steve’s sitting across from him. His fingers are steepled in front of him: red, raw and scabby knuckles and joints that look swollen in comparison to the lengths they connect. His forehead is resting against the tips and when he speaks, it’s to the table.

“Bucky, I fucked a guy. Not Tony, someone else.” He looks up and his eyes look like steel. “I don’t regret it either.” Bucky’s got a weird sensation crawling up his spine. He feels numb.

“Steve, I know we don’t talk about it a lot but I know you got needs. You never make a fuss about the dames, so I sorta knew you’d be doin’ the same. With fellas.” He didn’t know, he hoped. Well, hope was the wrong word because while the idea of two guys makes his brain white out, Bucky also doesn’t want to be the cause that Steve doesn’t get what he needs every now and again. Steve breathes out and it’s rough and stuttering. His fingers dig into his eyes and Bucky knows what’s coming. He decides to meet the coming train head on.

“You leaving me for real this time?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Buck. I feel like shit all the time. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want me.”

“Don’t you ever think I’m not mad about you. I don’t want anyone else. Don’t think about none of the girls, I only got eyes for you. They’re just to scratch an itch; I know I got you to come back to,” Bucky babbles, words he’d usually say out loud tripping over themselves to get out of his fucking stupid mouth. It’s like diarrhoea – he can’t stop the flow of shit. He’s being unfair. _So_ fucking unfair. He needs to let Steve go, needs to stop the two of them twisting each other’s hearts up over and over again. But he just can’t do it.

“Bucky, please.” The words are quiet and plaintive.

“I avoided guys ‘til you, Steve, but I saw you and I had to have you. You’re everythin’ to me, baby.” Steve scoffs and it’s thick with tears. Bucky doesn’t notice he’s crying too until he notices wet splashes on the varnished wood.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, Buck. This isn’t about you sayin’ you love me,” Steve’s started raising his voice and the last words are ground out like Steve doesn’t even think they’re true. Bucky wants to shake him until Steve doesn’t doubt him anymore because he does, he does- “Bucky! Stop spacing out and listen to me. This is about how I want to be touched by the guy I’m in love with and he can’t even feel my goddamned dick through my pants when we’re makin’ out without freaking out.”

“I’m gonna be sick. I swear to God, Stevie, don’t-”

“This is not _healthy_ , Bucky!” Steve says, but Bucky feels like he’s wearing him down because he’s stopped shouting and the tears are in free fall now.

“I don’t care. Come on, baby. Steve, please don't do this to me.”

“We can’t be like this anymore,” Steve says, and it’s almost a whine as if he’s a little kid in trouble and begging his parent not to put him in timeout.

“So we can change. I’ll go to therapy, I’ll do better for you; for me. We can both be more healthy and uhh, I’ll take on more hours, beg Tony for money, whatever you want me to do I’ll do it, Steve.” Bucky had wanted to be more dignified but when it comes down to it, he’s never been good at letting go of what he feels he needs. And Steve is like air to him. He’s not going down without a fight, even if his opponent is the very person he’s trying to keep.

“I can… There’s money in the shop if I re-mortgage. We’re not goin’ looking for charity, Bucky.” Bucky lets out the breath he’s been holding and he laughs weakly because he feels like he’s gotten away with murder.

“No, ‘course not. Okay, Steve. I’ll do this for us. I’m gonna get better. No more broads either.”

“Promise me, Bucky.”

“I’d promise you the world if I could. ‘Til the end, right?” That's what they've whispered to each other in the early morning like teenagers. It's not the end now. Bucky won't let it be.

“Sure, Bucky.” And Steve’s voice is small and Bucky’s the worst person for hanging on and dragging Steve down with him but he can’t let go. Steve’s an adult, he can make his own decisions. And he _wants_ to be with Bucky. That’s why it hurts them both so much when they’re tryin’ to deny themselves because why don’t they get to be happy and together just ‘cause they hurt each other a little too?


	9. Chapter 9

When Bucky wakes up in the morning, Steve’s gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's gone and Bucky's lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references the literal car crash from [Faultline](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2321327) which you might want to read for context if you haven't already (it's short!). Apologies for the long wait, uni's kicking my arse. Special warnings for this chapter are implied PTSD, rape/sex under the influence of drugs, alcoholism. It's a couple of lines/non-graphic, but tread carefully.

Sam comes to pick up Steve’s stuff and he’s obviously fucking furious because he can barely look at Bucky. Must think Bucky was beatin’ on Steve, the way he got the hell outta there so quick. But Sam’s not the type to suffer a grudge silently and he rounds on Bucky when the last box is loaded into his truck.

“What the hell, Bucky? All those times I tried to keep you two together and you were hurting him?”

“Shit, Sam. I never laid a finger on him.”

“I didn’t say you hit him.” Bucky shrugs, even though his throat is hot and tight. He hurt Steve, well Steve hurt him too and you didn’t see him running away. He was the one who wanted to stick it out, and Steve had _promised._ This was not the end, not yet.

“He wants me to tell you-”

“Anything Stevie wants to tell me, he can goddamn say to my face, Sam.” Bucky’s not doing too well at looking like Steve was the irrational one for leaving. Sam, however, does Bucky the courtesy of pretending he didn’t speak.

“He’s going ahead with your plans for the shop?” Sam almost asks, indicating that he has no idea what that means. To Bucky, it’s like a bolt of lightning. If Steve still wants to get money out of the shop, that means he still wants Bucky to do therapy and get better. So they can stay together. Maybe he just needs the space to start to sort himself out too. Bucky’s shoulders drop from where they’ve inched up practically around his ears and he feels himself breathing easily again.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Yeah, okay. I don’t know what the hell happened here, Bucky, but something tells me it’s on you to sort this out. You and Steve seemed good together.” Sam opens his mouth as if to speak again but shakes his head. Bucky can see that he’s not had much sleep and wonders how many times he heard Steve go from the kitchen to the bathroom last night.

“Look after him, okay?” Sam gives him a grin that’s only a tenth of its usual megawatt rating and climbs into the front of the truck. He turns the key in the ignition and drives off, slow and steady. _That’s the kind of person Steve needs right now,_ Bucky thinks. He knows what kinda person _he_ needs right now.

* * *

 “He fuckin’ left me, Tash,” Bucky slurs. They started off the night resolving not to drink but Natasha doesn’t deal well with her own emotions let alone anyone else’s. And so a bottle or two mighta been cracked open but who’s counting? Another unfair thing for him to do: getting drunk with an alcoholic. But life’s already proved he’s a piece of work so one more mark in his ledger of fuck ups won't hurt.

They always start to dip in and out of Russian when drunk, even though Bucky’s been steadily forgetting it all since he left home. Not like he was ever fluent in the first place – his parents had huge fuckin’ chips on their shoulders about the motherland.

“ _Stop wasting words, Yasha._ He’s gone and he won’t be coming back without effort from you.” The colour’s high on her cheeks and even though he knows he’ll hate himself in the morning, he passes the bottle back to her when she stretches out a lightly quivering, expectant hand.

“I don’t know what to – _I love him so much –_ I don’t want him to leave me, I love him,” Bucky rambles and he’s got tears welling up in his eyes.

“Well, he’s gone. _And you know what you have to do._ He has set the bar, now jump,” she says, carefully curling into his side so she doesn’t overbalance him. Bucky presses a button on the remote next to him and the TV flickers to life. They’re gonna watch some shitty program while drunk, pass out on the floor and wake up in the morning feeling guilty and hungover. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. Bucky puts his arm around Natasha and kisses her on the top of the head as a distraction so he can steal the bottle of liquor. Eventually, he’ll get too drunk to stay upright with no arm to brace against and that’s when they’ll call it a day.

That moment’s not here yet. Bucky drinks another mouthful.

* * *

Bucky spent most of his time with Zola drugged out of his mind. In the beginning it was great – free party favours for just hanging around looking pretty with all the rest of the barely-legal kids at HYDRA. He’d been couch surfing for around six months at that point, and it was beginning to wear thin. Coming back to find all your shit in a box outside in the rain or getting yelled at by not-so-significant others who didn’t like you fucking their boyfriend or girlfriend got real old real quick. He wasn’t old enough to get into bars and he didn’t look old enough to fake his way past the bouncers. All he wanted was to find someone with a real job to uh, take care of him for a bit.

Well, he found it. While hanging out on a street corner across from HYDRA, looking for someone to make life choices that boded well for him, a car pulled up. He remembers thinking that the guy in front was an ugly fuck, but his car looked expensive and his clothes looked nice. Bucky would never be described as the cleverest kid in a pack, but he wasn’t fucking braindead. Nevertheless, he’d been spending a bit too much time and money with his temporary roommates on various white powders and the fat baggy hanging between the man he would come to know as Zola’s fingers looked awful appetising.

So he got in the back and _met_ some of the other HYDRA kids and when they were done, he walked into the club high as a fuckin’ kite. If you asked him, Bucky would still say that that year was the best of his life. Sex and drugs and friends on tap with no shitty consequences. Until, suddenly, that’s all there were.

There was this one drug that Bucky’d never heard of before, and never has done since. It fucked your memories up until you weren’t sure if you’d just been face-fucked by five strangers or if that was a dream and you’d actually just given one guy a great blowjob. And slowly, Bucky began to shy away from guys because if every time someone fucks you you’re not sure if you’re really there, things start to get a little uncomfortable. People’d come up to him and squeeze his ass or run hands down his arms with faces that said they’d touched him before. He never had the weird half-dream-half-memories about women, and that was how Bucky became sure that something was fucked. When he asked other people, he could see the feigned ignorance in their eyes. One thing that a newer guy, probably one rung up from him in terms of fresh meat, said to him stuck.

“You gotta do your time at the bottom, soldier.” His name was Rumlow and Bucky hated his guts but had no idea why. He was just always smirking in the corner of Bucky’s vision and he was one of the guys who always rubbed themselves up against him, even though Bucky knew he’d never touch that guy with a ten foot pole. And so, he resolved to talk to Zola and find out what was what.

The confrontation didn’t go down too well.

There are things Bucky remembers and things he doesn't. He remembers getting in the car and arguing, but not what it was about. He remembers snorting some powder, but not how much. He remembers clipping his seatbelt even though no one at HYDRA usually does. He doesn’t remember hitting the tree or the wrenching pain in his forearm. He remembers the sound of smashing glass and the thud of meat hitting the ground. He doesn’t remember the sirens. He does remember the grin on his face.

There are things from the past he won't let himself remember and he wishes that pattern would repeat itself now, instead of leaving indelible marks in his brain. He remembers waking up with Steve rubbing his dick against Bucky’s crack in his sleep and not reacting because he’s barely awake. He remembers how that changed when he became aware; how he froze up completely and how Steve musta been shocked awake, too. He remembers Steve rolling away and choking back sobs once safely ensconced in the bathroom. He remembers what the sound of liquid hitting the toilet bowl sounds like after agonising minutes of heaving.

Bucky remembers pretending to just wake up when Steve came back out, face freshly scrubbed and saying “Morning, gorgeous.” He remembers ignoring the acrid tang to Steve’s breath. He won’t let himself remember how Steve squeezes his eyes shut. Calling people gorgeous ain’t enough when everything you do tells them otherwise.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more than one thread in this tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you forgot that they are both suffering supremely (though that is quite hard to do, I believe). This chapter references the first half of [Faultline](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2321327), i.e. Steve's background. Again, short and sweet. I apologise for the general brevity of these chapters but each chunk is a distinct blocked out scene and I kind of just write 'til it's done. I'll try and get them out faster and should have way more time over Xmas.
> 
> Thanks so much to all who continue to read.

Steve’s holding the phone between his shoulder and ear and feels like a teenager as he twirls his finger around a loose thread on his sweater. He can practically hear Sam’s eyes rolling about all over the place, but… it’s Bucky. They haven’t seen each other in weeks but Steve’s itching to go home. A few days to get his head screwed on right became a week, then a month and now two months later Steve’s had enough. He never knew how good he had it with Bucky and his supporting Steve no questions asked until he lived with a guy who moonlighted as a counsellor. Every other sentence coming outta his mouth is another ‘suggestion’ that Steve follow in Bucky’s footsteps and ‘get some fucking help’. That’s why Steve’s got to leave. This is the way he does things. It’s been maybe fifteen years since the meds that caused this all and he hasn’t dropped down dead yet. And if he does, he’s gonna know why. It won’t be because his body’s turning against itself for reasons unknown but because he fucked it up so much it finally gave up the ghost.

“How are you doing, Stevie?” Bucky asks after they run through their days. Is it so much to ask that everyone get off his case? “You eat breakfast today?”

“Bucky, I don’t want to talk about me. How’s therapy going?” It’s eating a huge hole in their finances is what it’s doing, but Steve doesn’t see an alternative. They’ve already got a good deal going with Dr Banner – he’s some shrink Tony knows but he ain’t half bad. They get some sorta assistance too for being lower income and Steve doesn’t really know how Pepper wrangled it but she did and he’s not gonna complain. He’s so glad her and Tony are dating now. She’s a lot better suited to him than Steve ever was. Their explosive arguments made for pretty great make up sex, but it couldn’t make up for the shit they said to each other sometimes.

Banner specialises in PTSD which is apparently what Bucky’s got. Steve had thought just soldiers got that, but as it works out, he was wrong. Bucky doesn’t really talk about what goes on in the sessions, and Steve’s hoping that’s just because he wants to do it in person. He wants to know what’s happening with Bucky so _bad_. Is it good? Is he making progress? Does he like the doctor?

“Yeah, it’s going okay. Doc says I gotta long way to go, though.”

“I know you’re doing great, Buck. I’m proud’a you.” Bucky huffs embarrassedly but Steve can tell he’s preening. There’s a pregnant pause afterwards, and Steve braces himself.

“Really though, Steve – how many days you gone?” Steve’s back goes rigid and he’s aware of how loud he needs the phone to be because his hearing isn’t the greatest and how Sam’s re-entered the room silently and is sitting on a kitchen counter just staring at him. Daring him to reply.

“Uh, three days. Maybe four,” he says, and he can’t stop his traitorous gaze from cutting to Sam’s for a moment. Steve sees a raised eyebrow and his eyes drop to the floor where his socked feet are clenching and wriggling almost beyond his control.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky says, and he sounds so disappointed. “I don’t want to see you even smaller when you come home. What about that leftover cake from Sam’s niece’s birthday you were talking about?”

“I’m not gonna eat that, Buck. Come on.”

“Steve, you’re getting worse. You were fine eating sweet stuff at home.” At home, nothing has to remain in his system. At home, he doesn’t have to worry about his best friend hearing him; judging him. And yeah sometimes he eats without guilt, but that’s when Bucky gives it to him. And Bucky’s at home, not here.

Steve’s voice is getting lower, and some of his speech comes out with little hisses of breath as he attempts to have a private conversation in someone else’s kitchen.

“ _Look_ , Bucky. We agreed that we’re gonna stay together. And we said that that meant therapy for you for, you know.” Steve doesn’t want to forget where he is entirely. “But we can only afford it for one of us–” barely “–and I ain’t gonna change. I don’t want to. So it’d be a waste.”

Bucky just breathes on the other end of the line for a few seconds.

“Okay, Steve. No shrink. But I need you to try, too. I can’t do this if I’m always worrying you’re gonna drop dead in the street. What’s the point of me trying so hard if at the end of the day you’re not there to hold?”

Steve’s face screws up involuntarily and he’s really not sure what emotion is trying to fight its way out of his chest. He hears the clink of a glass being set down next to him and looks over to see a small glass of milk. His stomach rumbles. He looks up and Sam is smiling encouragingly (though it wavers ever-so-slightly).

“I’ll try, Buck.”

“That’s all I’m askin’ for, Steve.” They say their goodbyes and Steve stretches out his trembling hand from its warm hiding place in his sleeve. The glass is cool against his skin and that surprises Steve because most things are warmer than him these days. Steve drinks the milk and – _God –_ after a few days of water and coffee and tea, this is manna.

From nowhere, Steve begins sobbing, great heaving cries that come from a place Steve didn’t know existed in him, and his only anchors right now are the phone in his right hand, the glass in his left and the solid weight of Sam’s arms around his shoulders as he weeps into his friend’s chest.


End file.
